


Black and Blue

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The Commish (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Adult Content, Crossover, First Time, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-20
Updated: 2006-07-20
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: One dark night, Officer Caruso has a memorable encounter.





	Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: No, you're not seeing things. I wrote the Top!Rat. But it's not my fault. My BadAss!Alex Muse wanted to play with sweet little Ricky. He had a gun. What was I supposed to do?  
  
Perhaps this story can shed some light on just where a certain Rat went after Tunguska...   


* * *

Warnings: Bad language, handcuffs, sneering, spanking, rough sex. And those are just the good points. If the thought of two men engaging in these activities bothers you, please don't read this story and if you do, don't write to me.

Thanks: To HollyIlex for impeccable beta as always, and to Gaby, tireless cheerleader, constant inspiration and great friend. Thanks for sneak previewing, handholding and kicking my butt when I need it. 

Dedication: For Ursula. I now return Ricky to your tender care. He's a little disheveled but boy has he got a story to tell.

 

 

Black and Blue

 

By Lorelei

 

 

Officer Ricky Caruso hurried down the hall, fastening the top button of his uniform shirt as he went.

 

"Hey!" Detective Cyd Madison shouted as Ricky careened around the corner, narrowly missing her. "Watch where you're going, Caruso!"

 

"Sorry!" Ricky yelled over his shoulder. He reached the squad room door and glanced up at the clock.

 

Shit!

 

Scali had told him - no, _promised_ him - that if he was late to one more roll call he'd have him on crosswalk duty outside Little Angels daycare for a week.

 

Ricky licked his lips nervously, took a deep breath and opened the door. Maybe if he was really lucky, he could slip into the back row without Scali noticing.

 

"Hey everybody! There he is!" Stan Kelly yelled, jumping to his feet and pointing at Ricky.

 

The squad room erupted with hoots and catcalls. Ricky backed up against the closed door, his eyes wide. What the hell was going on?

 

"He's got a gun!" Carmela Pagan yelled.

 

"Public enemy number one!" Jim McGinley chimed in.

 

Ricky looked back and forth between them, the tips of his ears turning scarlet. The laughter grew louder as his consternation grew. Everyone in the room seemed to be in on some colossal joke, yelling and pointing at him with glee. 

 

Ricky's cheeks burned and he felt a surge of anger. Damn, why couldn't he ever get away with anything without Scali finding out? And speaking of the Commissioner, why wasn't he doing anything about the pandemonium in his squad room? Ricky looked toward the front of the room, hoping for some form of intervention from his boss.

 

He should have known better.

 

Scali's round face bore a huge grin. "Don't try anything, kid!" he shouted above the melee, waving a piece of paper over his head. "We got ya surrounded!" He broke into peals of laughter, his eyes sparkling with merriment.

 

"All right, all right," Ricky snapped, stomping to the front of the room. "Anybody wanna tell me just what the hell is going on around here?"

 

"Sure thing, Mr. Krycek," Scali said, waggling his eyebrows and handing over the piece of paper. The room dissolved into laughter again. Ricky stared at him, confused. Kry-what? He looked down at the paper, trying to ignore the eager stares of his fellow officers as they awaited his reaction.

 

WANTED BY THE F.B.I.

 

FUGITIVE WANTED FOR FEDERAL CRIMES

 

ALEX ANTONIN KRYCEK

 

Aliases Used: Alexander Arntzen

 

Date of Birth Used: June 22, 1966

 

Place of Birth: Unknown

 

Height: 6’2

 

Weight: 180

 

NCIC: W254996178

 

Ricky read the rest of the bulletin quickly. Conspiracy, murder...whoever this Krycek guy was, he was definitely in for trouble when the Feds caught up to him. Ricky studied the man's photograph. Green eyes stared back up at him above a confident grin. Ricky squirmed a little as he finally got the joke.

 

"Come on guys," he said lamely as he stared at the picture again. 

 

So this Krycek guy was six-two and went about a buck eighty. So he had dark brown hair and green eyes. So did half the guys in Eastbridge!

 

"You never told us you had an evil twin, Caruso," Scali grinned, resting his hand affectionately on Ricky's shoulder.

 

"Come on, Boss," Ricky mumbled. "He doesn't look _that_ much like me." 

 

He walked quickly to the back of the room, followed by a smattering of applause. He took a seat in the back row, dodging the paper ball winged at him by Stan. Ricky glared at him, his face still bright red with embarrassment.

 

"All right, all right," Commissioner Scali said, holding his hands up for quiet. "We've had our fun. Thanks for being such a good sport, Officer Kry...er...Caruso."

 

Ricky slumped in his seat as a final ripple of laughter made its way through the room.

 

"Okay, guys and gals," Scali continued. "All joking aside, the F.B.I. thinks it's possible that this Alex Krycek could be in our area so we all need to be on alert. It goes without saying that he should be considered armed and extremely dangerous, so if you should spot him-"

 

"Where?" Stan called out. "Coming out of the Safeway?"

 

"That's enough, Stan," Scali said. His tone was gentle but it was obvious that he meant business. "Playtime's over. I know Eastbridge ain't exactly the Bronx, but it ain't Mayberry either. I got a stack of reports on my desk that says crime isn't going down on our beat, it’s going the other way." He jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. "So we need to take this seriously. All right, roll out and be safe out there. Caruso, I want to see you for a minute."

 

Ricky endured the wisecracks and backslaps as the other officers filed out past him. Finally, the door closed behind them and he was alone with Scali. Ricky sulked, unable to hide his annoyance at being the butt of the joke.

 

"Come on, Caruso," Scali said, not unkindly. "Put that lip away before you scare the citizens."

 

"But, Boss-"

 

"That’s enough," Scali insisted. He put both hands on Ricky's shoulders and gave the younger man a good-natured shake. "It was just a little ribbing. You can't let the guys see that it gets to you."

 

"Okay," Ricky said grudgingly. Truthfully, he was still a little pissed off about all the jokes, but he wanted to get on Scali's good side and stay there. "Uh, Boss, about roll call..."

 

"You were one minute late exactly," Scali said with a grin. "I hear traffic over by the Little Angels daycare has been just terrible lately. You heard anything about that, Ricky?"

 

"Uh, no, Boss," Ricky said meekly, his hands clasped behind his back.

 

"Gee, I really worry about those kids," Scali said thoughtfully, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Seems to me the regular crossing guard could use some help. Maybe we ought to send one of our own over there, you know, make sure those little angels get across the street safely."

 

"Aw, come on, Boss, please-"

 

"All right, Caruso," Scali said, putting one arm around Ricky’s shoulders. "You're off the hook...this time. But come in here late just once more and you're gonna learn all you ever wanted to know about Pokemon. Got me?"

 

"Yes, Boss," Ricky said, shaken but relieved. Man, if the other guys ever saw him leading a line of four year-olds across the street like a mother duck, he'd be finished!

 

"Now," Scali said, holding up a set of car keys. "You're in unit nineteen tonight. Alone."

 

Ricky’s eyes lit up. Hot damn! Finally, a solo patrol!

 

"Wait just a minute there, cowboy," Scali cautioned, holding the car keys a few inches above Ricky’s eager hand. "I have my doubts about sending you out there alone, but with Carmela training the new guy and four other guys out with the flu, I'm up against it."

 

He dropped the keys into Ricky’s hand. 

 

"Thanks, Boss!" Ricky said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Everything will be smooth as silk, I promise. I won't let you down."

 

"Smooth as silk," Scali repeated. "Why do you and that phrase seem mutually exclusive?"

 

Ricky looked down, a little embarrassed. Okay, he'd had his fair share of ass-chewings and suspensions, but he'd turned over a new leaf. He really had! He'd made some dumb rookie mistakes but being a cop was all he'd ever wanted. He wanted to make Scali forget all about the past and instead see him as a bright, up and coming cop. A cop he could depend on. A cop who would one day make detective.

 

"Thanks for trusting me, Boss," Ricky said, looking at Scali sincerely. "I know you're taking a chance on me and I promise, you won’t be sorry."

 

"That's all I want to hear," Scali said. "Go get 'em."

 

Ricky was almost out the door when he heard the final word from Scali, in a mischievous stage-whisper.

 

"Krycek!"

 

 

****

 

 

Ricky turned his cruiser onto Tenth Street and shone his spotlight on the darkened row of buildings. He drove in glum silence, drumming his fingers on the dashboard. It was after midnight, and what had been a boring and uneventful shift was becoming more boring and uneventful by the minute. There had been the usual collection of traffic stops, bearing nothing more exciting than a busted taillight or expired tag. He'd broken up a half-hearted bar fight at TJ's, the two drunks involved having been too loaded to see one another, much less land a punch.

 

He turned onto Decatur and headed north. He was on the outer perimeter of his beat. The next right would take him back toward the suburbs, dotted with supermarkets and video stores. He glanced to his left at the towering warehouses that loomed, dark and silent, on the outskirts of town. They gathered there like sentries, guarding mean streets notorious for criminal activity.

 

An idea began to form in Ricky's mind. 

 

A bad idea. 

 

He was supposed to stay on his beat, no matter what. That went without saying. But Ricky had seen the collars that came in from the warehouse district. A dangerous and seedy part of town, it was home to drug dealers and car thieves just waiting for a smart cop to come along and bust them. Macaffey had brought in three in one night the week before, while Ricky was still trying to finish the paperwork on a purse-snatcher he'd arrested at the Shop-n-Save.

 

Ricky stopped at the red light. To his right lay the slumbering bedroom communities of Eastbridge. The occasional red-faced teenager with a pilfered copy of Vice City stuffed down his jeans, the little old ladies who _might_ have heard a noise somewhere in the vicinity of their petunias, or it might have been the television, the well-to-do couples in khakis and sweaters, gazing anxiously up into towering pine trees, waiting for that nice young Officer Caruso to get Whiskers _down_ , please.

 

To his left lay a veritable breeding ground for crime. Left undisturbed, it would teem with robbers and rapists, plying their trade far from the prying eyes of the law. Ricky enjoyed a brief fantasy of tackling one of these lowlife scum (after a vigorous foot chase, of course), slapping the cuffs on him, and escorting him proudly into the station for all to see. Imagine the look on Scali's face! Not to mention the rest of the guys. No one would be laughing at him then, that was for sure.

 

Ricky stared at the line of warehouses, his eyes narrowed, alert for any sign of movement. It wouldn't take long just to drive through and take a look around, would it? Sure, he'd be off his beat, way off. But surely Scali couldn't say anything if Ricky brought in a nice felony bust! He was sworn to protect and serve _all_ of Eastbridge, wasn't he? So what if he took a little drive? If it got a criminal off the street, surely it was worth it.

 

The light turned green.

 

Ricky turned left.

 

 

****

 

 

The cruiser rolled quietly between the hulking buildings, their enormous shadows keeping the deserted streets shrouded in perpetual gloom. Equipment, steel drums and spools of wire sat behind high chain-link fences. Even though his approach was cautious, Ricky felt conspicuous. The scant moonlight was still enough to make the cruiser's reflective paint shimmer and the motor was bound to be audible a couple of streets away. If the crooks knew he was on the prowl, they'd simply hide in the shadows and he wouldn't get his bust. Ricky pulled in at the end of a long line of trucks parked in front of one of the warehouses and cut his engine. He turned off the lights and waited, cloaked in darkness, for some hapless criminal to show himself.

 

He glanced at the dashboard clock, which was the only light inside the cruiser. Half an hour had passed and so far, nothing. He shifted in his seat and took a swig from the can of Coke that had long since grown warm. The radio crackled to life and Ricky listened carefully, hoping no calls would come in before he had the chance to make a collar.

 

Suddenly, he glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up just in time to see a figure melt out of the shadows between two buildings and then disappear behind the nearest one. Ricky automatically reached for the radio but stopped short. He should call for backup. He knew that. But what if the perp got away while he was waiting? And how to explain to dispatch what he was doing here when he was supposed to be cruising the Video Mania parking lot ten blocks away?

 

He opened the door of his patrol car and got out, closing it as quietly as possible. He switched off the radio and thumbed the strap off his holster. Just check out the situation and then you can call for backup if you need it, he promised himself. Doesn't hurt just to take a look.

 

Ricky stayed close to the wall, the cold of the corrugated metal seeping through the back of his uniform shirt. He slid around the corner and moved slowly sideways, careful not to make any noise. At length, he reached a doorway. He quickly leaned around for a look, then pressed back against the wall. The smudged glass window set into the door bore the faded letters "OFFICE". Looking up and down the alley, Ricky saw no sign of life. This had to be where the mysterious figure had gone.

 

His suspicions were confirmed when he reached out and pressed gently against the door. He felt slight movement, even though the door appeared to be tightly closed and locked just as the owner had undoubtedly left it. Ricky dropped to his knees, careful to keep his head below the window, and examined the lock. There was no evidence of tampering. He pushed the door again and it opened a crack. Ricky sat back on his heels and drew his gun from its holster. Whomever this guy was, he knew how to bust a lock without it showing. Definitely a pro. But a pro at what? 

 

Ricky was determined to find out.

 

His gun at the ready, he counted silently to three and then slowly pushed the door open. He could see nothing in the darkened office, and the only sound he heard was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He took a deep breath and crept in, keeping his body low, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom.

 

He could make out a desk, a coat rack in the corner, the usual jumble of office equipment and filing cabinets. There was another door opposite the one Ricky had passed through, apparently leading into the warehouse itself. Ricky moved close to it. The door was slightly ajar, a thin line of light visible along its edge. Ricky stood still, holding his breath, listening hard for any sound.

 

There was nothing but silence. Painstakingly, Ricky slid one finger between the door and the jamb. He opened the door, slightly at first, then wide enough for him to get a quick look into the warehouse. He moved back into the office, his back to the wall, breathing hard. He hadn't seen anything but stacks of pallets and boxes, and a row of silent forklifts parked along the far wall. 

 

The guy was in there somewhere. Maybe he'd been aware of Ricky's presence the entire time. Maybe he was hiding, weapon at the ready, waiting for Ricky to show himself so he could blow him away. Ricky willed himself to be calm and remember his training. _Like never go in without backup?_ a needling voice said in the back of his mind. Ricky ignored it. He held his gun in both hands, said a silent prayer, and opened the door.

 

He kept his back against the wall, his gun aimed straight out in front of him. He scanned the length and breadth of the vast warehouse repeatedly, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for a movement, a shadow, the glint of a gun aimed back at him.

 

Suddenly, Ricky saw him. Tall, dark clothing, face half-hidden by shadows.

 

"Freeze!" Ricky yelled, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Eastbridge Police!" He pointed his gun at the figure, his finger aligned with the trigger.

 

The figure obeyed, or seemed to. He hadn't moved since Ricky had first spotted him, standing near a pile of boxes in the far corner of the room.

 

Ricky realized he was panting and tried to slow his breathing. For Christ's sake, Caruso, he thought to himself. Stop acting like a first-day rookie. You know what to do.

 

"Okay!" Ricky shouted, keeping his gun trained on the figure's chest. You got him, Ricky. He makes one wrong move and you put him down. "Put your hands up. Do it now!"

 

Slowly, the figure obeyed, arms stretching up over his head.

 

Ricky squinted, trying to get a better look at him, but was too far away to see the guy's face. The figure hadn't spoken. Hadn't moved, except to obey Ricky’s commands. He didn't fidget as most of them did, didn't try to plead his case. He merely stood motionless, oddly graceful, waiting for further orders.

 

"Turn around!" Ricky shouted, trying to give his voice a hard, don't-fuck-with-me edge. At any minute, this guy could realize that the backup that should be there wasn't. The figure obeyed, slowly and deliberately. "Get those hands up higher!" Ricky added sharply, trying not to sound nervous. You got it, Ricky. Another couple of minutes and this guy'll be in cuffs. Then you can get to the bottom of what he's doing creeping around in warehouses after hours. 

 

The figure complied, reaching up toward the ceiling. 

 

"Start walking backwards toward the sound of my voice!" Ricky yelled. His finger inched closer to the trigger. "Do exactly as I tell you or you're gonna be in a world of hurt, pal!" Ricky swallowed. Okay, so that last line wasn't really in the law enforcement officer's handbook. It was pure bravado, something a TV cop would say. Ricky hated to admit it to himself, but the guy's strange, almost supernatural calm had gotten to him.

 

Was that a faint, whisper-soft laugh floating back to him on the cool night air?

 

"Move it!" Ricky growled, beginning to get pissed off. Why was this guy such a cool customer? Why wasn't he babbling about how he left his ID in his other pants or that his wife was gonna kill him when she found out he got arrested again or...or... _something_? 

 

The figure moved back toward Ricky. He didn't glance behind or falter, merely moving backward with slow, measured steps. Ricky could see that the guy was wearing a black leather jacket which had risen with his upraised arms, exposing his waist. Ricky looked closely for a weapon but saw only a dark grey shirt tucked neatly into black jeans, a brown leather belt below. 

 

The man was about ten feet away from him now. "Stop!" Ricky said gruffly. The man obeyed, coming to a halt and waiting patiently. "Kneel down," Ricky ordered. "Make sure you keep those hands up where I can see them."

 

Slowly and deliberately, the man sank to his knees, his hands still high above his head. Ricky moved his gun into his left hand, reached around for his cuffs with his right. "Look straight ahead," he warned, even though the guy hadn’t moved. Carefully, Ricky moved up behind the man, the cuffs open and ready in his right hand. He got on one knee and holstered his gun, then reached up for the man's left wrist.

 

It felt hard and strange in Ricky's hand. He peered at it, momentarily distracted. 

 

"What the-"

 

There was a sudden whirl of motion, so fast that Ricky's vision blurred and he felt nauseous. The breath whistled out of him as he was slammed hard on the cement, grunting with the impact. He made a feeble attempt to fight but the man's knee was pressing painfully into his back. Ricky cried out as his arms were jerked roughly behind his back and the steel handcuffs snapped shut around his wrists.

 

_-Oh God oh shit where's my gun he's got my gun-_

 

Time seemed to slow down. In his mind's eye he could see it all, everything that was to come. The worst possible scenario. His body on the cold cement floor, his pale face surrounded by its corona of darkening blood. All the guys standing around, Stan, Carmela, Jim.

 

Scali.

 

Ricky closed his eyes, imagining the look on Scali's face. The sadness, the guilt of one of his men going down like this. I'm sorry, Ricky thought desperately. Oh God, I'm sorry, Boss. You'll say I knew better and you'll be right. I did know better. I should have listened to you all those times you tried to teach me to think things through, to not be such a hothead. I'm sorry. Please don't blame yourself. It's not your fault.

 

Suddenly the weight was gone from Ricky's back. He lay there, dazed and panting, twisting his wrists inside the cuffs the way he'd seen perps do a thousand times, even though he knew it was no good. Footsteps echoed as the man moved directly behind him, then stopped. Ricky's breathing was loud and ragged in the sudden silence. He waited. Waited for the bullet in the back of the head, for the inevitable end that awaited foolish young cops who lost their guns.

 

Footsteps again, moving closer. Beside him now. The sound of a man squatting down, his boots scraping the floor as he shifted his weight. Ricky squeezed his eyes shut tighter. 

 

_-Oh God here it comes I'm not ready please God don't let him kill me-_

 

Hands grasped his shoulders. He was quickly and expertly flipped over, his cuffed hands wedged uncomfortably between his back and the cement floor.

 

Ricky's eyes widened in surprise as he looked up into a familiar face. Familiar from the photo on the F.B.I. want sheet Scali had shown him. Not unlike the face Ricky saw in his bathroom mirror every morning. 

 

Okay...so the guy _did_ look a hell of a lot like him. Same dark hair, same green eyes, even the same mouth. Ricky had overheard one of the secretaries at the station calling it 'kissable'. He'd blushed and hurried to the locker room to change, suddenly understanding why she always seemed to end up beside him at the coffee machine.

 

But that's where the similarities seemed to end, at least to Ricky. The face looking down at him with a calm, faintly bemused expression was...older. Maybe not literally, hell, the guy was only three years older than Ricky if the birthdate on the F.B.I. bulletin was right. No, it wasn't cosmetic age. It was something in the eyes, something dark and watchful, something that bespoke of places and experiences a young small-town cop like Ricky couldn't imagine.

 

Ricky stared up at him, the fear and anger churning inside him. What the hell was with this guy? If he was going to kill Ricky why didn't he do it already instead of sitting there staring at him like he was some kind of fucking freak? Ricky shifted a little, wincing as the cuffs chafed his wrists. A glance to his right revealed his own service weapon in the man's right hand. Ricky swallowed nervously. 

 

The man continued to look down at Ricky with a thoughtful expression, one finger tapping the gun as if he were trying to decide what to do with his captive.

 

Ricky decided, what the hell. Nothing to lose but my fucking life.

 

"You're Alex Krycek," he said, trying to keep his voice even and not entirely succeeding.

 

The smirk grew into a smile, revealing even white teeth. 

 

"Well, well," Krycek said. "My reputation precedes me." 

 

His voice was husky and pitched low. It didn't echo like Ricky's. Instead it seemed to settle around him like a black velvet cloak. He reached down and Ricky flinched a little, hoping Krycek didn't notice. Krycek's chuckle made Ricky turn red and grit his teeth. The bastard! Bad enough he's got me in my own damned cuffs and he's probably going to shoot me, but does he have to laugh at me too? Krycek took Ricky’s ID bar and held it between his fingers, tilting it so that the light played on the letters. 

 

"Caruso," he said with a mocking grin. "How's your singing?"

 

Ricky groaned and rested his head on the floor. 

 

"If you're going to make jokes at least make one I haven’t heard a million times already."

 

Krycek sat back on his heels, resting Ricky's gun on his knee. 

 

"I'd rather know what you're doing following me around, little boy."

 

Ricky's face burned at Krycek's words. Fury boiled up inside him and he lashed out, trying to kick Krycek. Krycek moved easily out of the way while Ricky struggled to get some leverage. If he could just get onto his side maybe he could get to his knees...

 

Krycek's boot in the center of his chest scuttled that plan. Ricky fell onto his back, panting, his face contorted with pain and anger. 

 

"Do I look like a little boy to you?" he snarled.

 

Krycek stood above him, balancing without visible effort, his boot pressing down just hard enough to let the younger man know he meant business. Krycek's clear green eyes held Ricky's, the smile leaving his face. 

 

"I don't think you really want to know what you look like to me." 

 

Ricky felt a curious chill run up his spine. Krycek was smiling again but it was an odd smile, predatory and faraway. Suddenly, Ricky realized Krycek was right. Whatever Krycek was thinking right now, Ricky was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Krycek took his boot off Ricky's chest.

 

"Be good." 

 

Ricky bit his lip, trying to stay calm so he could figure a way out of this. Krycek walked around behind Ricky and grabbed him under the arms, then began to drag him backwards.

 

"Hey!" Ricky snapped as Krycek dragged him along briskly, the seat of his uniform pants scant inches from the rough floor, his regulation black shoes scraping the cement. Krycek ignored him. He dragged Ricky over to one of the support poles, dumped him on his side and then pressed him down onto his stomach. Ricky was poised to take any chance for escape, no matter how slight, but Krycek was ready for him. He kept his boot on Ricky's back while he released the cuff from Ricky's left wrist, then pulled him up to sit with his back against the pole. Ricky struggled as his hands were yanked behind him and shackled again behind the pole, but it was no use. The cuffs rattled against the cold metal. Ricky glared at Krycek, thoroughly humiliated.

 

Krycek knelt beside him, still smiling that infuriating smile. When he reached for Ricky's belt, Ricky saw his chance. He brought his legs up and leveled another kick at Krycek. This time he connected. The smile left Krycek's face as he fell to one side, cursing in what sounded like Russian. A bare second later he was straddling Ricky's legs, one hand twisting in Ricky's hair. Ricky yelped as Krycek tugged his head back sharply and jammed Ricky's own gun up under his chin.

 

"All right, _Officer_ Caruso," Krycek growled, his breath hot on Ricky’s cheek. "At first you amused me, but now you're trying my patience. And you...do... _not_ want to do that," he added, tapping the gun against Ricky’s chin for emphasis. "Now," he continued, his voice silken and soft again, "are you going to be good? Or am I going to have to hurt you?"

 

Ricky trembled. Krycek's fierce green eyes were close to his, seeming to drown out everything else. There was truth in those eyes and something more, something dark. The gun pressed painfully into Ricky's jaw but he managed a nod. Krycek sat back a little, then grew very still. He seemed to be calming himself, his breathing slowing deliberately and gradually. Ricky sat motionless, hardly daring to breathe, his eyes fixed on the gun in Krycek's hand.

 

After a moment, Krycek seemed to relax, slipping the gun into his pocket and rolling his shoulders as if to relieve tension. His left arm was hanging at an odd angle and he used his right hand to adjust it, flexing the elbow slowly. He had caught his weight on it when he fell, and he gave Ricky a thoroughly unamused look as he finally let it drop to his side. 

 

He studied Ricky for a moment, his head cocked to one side in a way that would be charming in someone who hadn't just threatened to kill you. Ricky looked back at him, a hot flush slowly creeping up from his collar. Finally he looked away, chewing nervously on his lower lip. Krycek smiled and reached for Ricky's belt again, his eyes fixed on Ricky as if daring him to try anything.

 

Ricky sat still as Krycek deftly unbuckled the belt and slid it off. Ricky's flashlight and ticket book were quickly discarded. Krycek removed the pepper spray canister from its compartment and examined it with interest. Ricky watched him nervously. The stuff wasn't lethal but it sure could ruin your day. Krycek smirked and tossed it aside. Ricky's police radio was carefully removed and inspected before disappearing inside Krycek's leather jacket. Finally, Krycek grabbed Ricky's keys, dropped the belt onto the pile with everything else, and stood up. He shook a silent, warning finger at Ricky and then walked away.

 

Ricky watched him go. What now? He leaves me here to freeze to death? It would have to be a Friday night. Chances were pretty good he wouldn't be found until Monday, if anyone ever did find him. He slumped against the pole. His only hope now was that somebody would spot Krycek driving Ricky's stolen police cruiser. Krycek was good, Ricky mused, but he had to be an idiot to think he could drive that car out of Eastbridge without someone seeing him. And when they did, they'd come looking for Ricky. It was just a matter of time. 

 

The sound of the huge automatic door at the warehouse's main entrance startled Ricky out of his reverie. It trundled up slowly, rattling in its frame. Ricky's heart sank as he saw his own patrol car pulling slowly inside. Krycek parked it a few feet away and cut the engine, then walked back and hit the button, closing the big door again. The smell of exhaust hung in the air as Krycek strode toward Ricky. He stood there a moment, just watching, as if daring Ricky to kick again. Ricky forced himself to keep still, looking down so Krycek wouldn't see the frustration and anger in his eyes.

 

"Very good," Krycek said softly. "You're learning."

 

"I don't have much choice," Ricky said sullenly, glaring at his captor. "Just be glad you have the gun," he added, immediately feeling silly. He'd attempted a menacing tone but instead sounded unfortunately like a small child threatening to hold his breath forever and _ever_.

 

Krycek squatted down beside him, smiling his superior smile. "Always." 

 

Ricky looked down again. He couldn't stop Krycek from sitting there and measuring him with those shrewd green eyes, but he'd be damned if he was going to watch him do it. He closed his eyes, unable to suppress a sigh. He knew what he looked like. A young, arrogant, foolish cop who got in over his head, lost his weapon, and was now uncomfortably handcuffed to a pole in an empty warehouse in a toxic part of town, probably soon to be ground into cat food with the rest of the chum. A nice story for the front page of the Eastbridge Herald: Young Cop Dies an Idiot, continued page three.

 

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," Krycek said, idly toying with Ricky's police radio. "You never had a chance."

 

Ricky looked up. "You got lucky," he said defiantly.

 

Krycek laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. He put the radio down and leaned close to Ricky, very close, the smell of leather almost intoxicating. He reached around Ricky and plucked his wallet from his back pocket. 

 

"Come on now," he said, flipping the wallet open and scrutinizing Ricky’s ID, "Enrico." He snickered. "Man, your parents must be _major_ opera fans." 

 

Ricky shot him another look. Krycek paid him no mind, simply depositing Ricky's wallet, sans the forty bucks that had been in it, on the pile of discarded belongings.

 

"You got a nickname?" Krycek asked casually, as though they were waiting for an elevator or standing in line for tickets to a ballgame.

 

"Ricky," his captive answered grudgingly. "What the hell do you care? You’re going to kill me anyway."

 

Krycek looked genuinely surprised at that. 

 

"Now, Ricky," he said, as though comforting a frightened child, "I haven't killed you yet." He paused a moment and then added, deadly seriously, "Even though you've been _very_ naughty."

 

Ricky shivered and turned away, still tugging at the cuffs, needing to do _something_ about this god-awful mess he'd gotten himself into. Suddenly Krycek's voice was right in his ear.

 

"If it makes you feel better, little Ricky, all the backup in the world wouldn't have been enough."

 

That smell of leather and something else, something... Ricky couldn't place it, but it made him shift around a bit, bringing his knees up to his chest. He tried not to look at Krycek. It was cold in the warehouse but suddenly he felt hot and sweaty, almost feverish. Krycek chuckled and picked up the radio again, turning up the volume. He held the radio to Ricky's mouth, his thumb on the button.

 

"Now," he said, suddenly all business. "You are going to call your dispatcher and sign out ten-seven." Ricky's eyes widened. Krycek spat out police radio code as effortlessly as that white-hot stream of Russian curses a few moments before. Krycek pulled the gun out of his pocket and held it up so Ricky could see it. "Say anything else and things are going to get very bad, very fast. Am I making myself clear?"

 

Ricky nodded reluctantly. 

 

Krycek wasn’t satisfied. "I said, am I making myself clear?"

 

"Yes," Ricky said quietly, his eyes on the gun.

 

"I really hope so," Krycek said sincerely, cocking the gun. "Do it now." 

 

He pressed the button and waited for Ricky to speak.

 

"Nineteen-David to dispatch," Ricky said.

 

"Dispatch," the female dispatcher's voice crackled back.

 

"Nineteen-David out ten-seven," Ricky said, trying to sound as normal as possible even as he hoped something, anything in his voice would raise her suspicion.

 

"Roger that," the dispatcher responded in a bored tone. "Nineteen-David, ten-seven."

 

Ricky leaned his head back, resisting the urge to bang it against the pole. Ten-seven meant an officer was out of contact, radio off. Regulations said he was supposed to give a phone number but it was Betty, the regular dispatcher. If she needed Ricky she'd call the all-night cafe on Main where he always took his meal breaks. 

 

Unless World War III broke out in the next hour, Krycek had Ricky all to himself.

 

Krycek switched the radio off and put the gun back into his pocket. "Very good," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Now we can get back to business."

 

"What business?" Ricky snapped. "What the hell do you want?"

 

"What do I want?" Krycek asked in mock surprise. "I think I should be asking you that question, Officer Caruso. You were following _me_."

 

"You know what I want," Ricky muttered darkly, his frustration making him bold. "Your ass in the back of my patrol car."

 

Krycek chuckled and stood up. "I can think of better places to put my ass." 

 

Ricky scowled and turned his face away. 

 

Krycek stood silently looking down at Ricky. Ricky struggled to ignore him, keeping his eyes fixed on the dirty warehouse floor. What the fuck was with the staring? Krycek's relentless scrutiny was making Ricky nervous as hell.

 

Suddenly Krycek's husky voice broke the silence. 

 

"First time in handcuffs?"

 

Ricky's temper flared. "I put the cuffs on scumbags like you!" he spat. "Not the other way around!"

 

Krycek grinned. He tilted his head, green eyes glittering. 

 

"Pity. It's a good look for you."

 

Ricky drew his knees closer to his chest and stared mutinously at the floor. Damn Krycek! Why didn't he just shut up? His voice was like smoke and steel, and that faintly mocking edge...

 

Krycek watched him for a moment. "Tell me why you became a cop, Ricky."

 

Ricky jerked his head up, his eyes blazing. "None of your fucking business!"

 

Krycek stopped smiling. The gun made a brief reappearance. 

 

"Humor me."

 

Ricky gulped and looked down. 

 

"I became a cop because I wanted to protect the innocent," he said grudgingly. "Because I-" 

 

Krycek laughed, ripples in dark water. Ricky looked up, his mouth dropping open. Krycek was leaning casually against Ricky's own cruiser, his arms folded, _laughing_ at him. Ricky clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. God, how he wanted to slug Krycek, knock that mocking smile right off his face!

 

Krycek was moving toward him again. With difficulty, Ricky forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Krycek had the gun, after all. He couldn't afford to do anything to set him off again.

 

Ricky felt a growing sense of unease as Krycek squatted beside him again. Ricky could feel those cool eyes on him, like Krycek was looking through him. 

 

"All right," Krycek said quietly. "Try again. And remember, little boys who tell lies get spanked."

 

"I d-don't know what you're talking about!" Ricky stammered, his eyes wide.

 

Krycek smiled again. "You've got them all fooled, haven't you, Ricky?"

 

Ricky bit his lip and looked away. Let Krycek keep bullshitting. It didn't mean he had to listen.

 

Krycek leaned forward a little, enjoying Ricky's discomfiture. 

 

"Good Italian boy from the old neighborhood," he said, his voice husky and knowing. "Says all the right things, puts on a good show. I bet when the guys in the locker room are talking about the hot chicks they banged last night, you're bragging louder than anybody."

 

"Shut up!" Ricky growled through clenched teeth.

 

"Got a different girl for every day of the week, right Ricky?" Krycek continued in that same maddeningly friendly tone. "Stud like you. I bet you have the ladies lined up around the block."

 

"Fuck you."

 

Krycek's eyes narrowed and he put his hand in his pocket. "You want to watch that attitude, little boy," he growled.

 

Ricky quieted and looked down, but not before he risked another glare.

 

Krycek's chuckle was humiliating.

 

"Little Ricky with his great big badge and gun," Krycek continued, his voice rough and gentle all at the same time. "Overcompensate much?"

 

Ricky's eyes spat fire.

 

"You don't know anything about me!"

 

Krycek gazed at him thoughtfully.

 

"Where's your secret place, Ricky?" he asked softly. "Let me guess. It's some little dive across the state line where nobody knows you. Saturday nights, you change out of your uniform and you tell the guys at the station you've got a hot date. You do, but not the way they think. You hit the highway and force yourself to do the speed limit even though your palms are sweating on the wheel and your cock is so hard it hurts, because you can't afford to get pulled over and have to explain what you were doing out there…"

 

Ricky's jaw was tightly clenched. He was shaking all over. 

 

"I. Said. Shut. Up."

 

"The men at that place think they know you, but they don't. You never give your real name. You never tell anyone what you do for a living. You spend the night in a motel room or a stranger's apartment and you live more in those few hours than you do all week. You drive back with the sweat drying on you and your ass sore from getting fucked all night and you tell yourself you'll never go back there again." 

 

"No!" Ricky shouted, shaking his head. His voice dropped to a whisper. "No…it's not true…"

 

"Every time is the last time," Krycek continued. "But it never is, is it, Ricky? It's only a matter of time before you're back there again, looking for the one, the one who can give you what you need. The one who'll send you home with that ache in your ass. You crave that ache, don't you, Ricky? You love it and you hate it and you mourn it when it's gone because it reminded you that for a little while, you weren't alone."

 

"No…" Ricky said again, his voice breaking. He looked up at Krycek in mute appeal.

 

_Please…_

 

Krycek's eyes were understanding, almost kind, and that soft, soft voice like satin and gravel, caressing and hurting all at once.

 

"You don't have to pretend with me, Ricky. I know what you are. I know what you need. I can give it to you, but you have to ask for it."

 

"I don't want anything from you!" Ricky said, looking away. "Just leave me alone." He closed his eyes and rested his head against the pole. "Please," he whispered.

 

He felt more than heard Krycek coming closer. Smelled the leather, felt the warmth of his body as he knelt beside Ricky.

 

"Let it go," Krycek whispered. There was the barest brush of a leather glove against Ricky's cheek. "You can let it all go, little boy. All the guilt and the shame and the fear. You can have what you need if you just ask for it."

 

Ricky bit his lip. He couldn't stop trembling. His heart was thumping in his chest like he'd run a marathon.

 

_I have been running. Since I was sixteen I've been running._

 

Hot tears seeped from under his lashes and he was suddenly aware of just how close he was to breaking down. The few soft words from his dark captor had pared him down to the bone and he had nothing left, nothing. His chin trembled. If Krycek touched him right now he would shatter like glass, disappearing into a million pieces.

 

_He can't know. No one does. No one…_

 

He took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. He opened his eyes. 

 

Krycek was staring at him intently. Waiting.

 

"Please," Ricky whispered.

 

Krycek smiled. "Please what?" 

 

Ricky blinked. "I…I don't…"

 

"Tell me what you want," Krycek said quietly.

 

Ricky looked down, anxiously pulling at the cuffs. "I don't know," he said, his voice shaking.

 

"Yes you do. Tell me."

 

Ricky gulped and looked at Krycek again. Damn it, why did that intense look unsettle him so much? 

 

"I-" he gulped. "I w-want…" He looked at Krycek pleadingly. "Help me," he whispered.

 

Krycek nodded, his eyes almost seeming to glow in the dim light. He leaned forward, his breath hot on Ricky's ear.

 

"You want me to touch you, don't you?" he murmured.

 

"Y-yes," Ricky answered softly. He squirmed a little, trying to get closer to Krycek.

 

"Say please." Krycek's voice caressed his ear.

 

Ricky looked into Krycek's eyes.

 

"Please." It came out a whimper.

 

Krycek smiled again, predatory and sensual. His finger traced a line down Ricky's throat, along his collarbones, lingering at the topmost button of his uniform shirt. Krycek chuckled. He pushed Ricky's knees apart.

 

"Spread your legs."

 

Ricky obeyed, blushing. Krycek's eyes swept over him, strong young thighs spread wide, his black uniform pants stretched tight over the bulge between them. Krycek's black glove moved over Ricky's chest and belly, then brushed against the straining hardness below. Ricky jumped and cried out.

 

"Looks like little Ricky wants to play after all." Krycek smirked.

 

"Please," Ricky said again, breathing hard. He fidgeted with the cuffs. "Let me up?"

 

Krycek cocked his head again.

 

"Promise to be a good boy?" he said huskily.

 

"Yes," Ricky whispered, his blush deepening.

 

Krycek unlocked the cuffs, then stood, hoisting Ricky to his feet. Ricky wobbled a little, wincing as the pins and needles started in his legs. Krycek stood close. So close. Ricky automatically gauged the distance between himself and the door, wondering if he could make it before-

 

"I wouldn't if I were you," purred Krycek in his ear. He trailed a finger down Ricky's back. Ricky froze.

 

"Good boy," Krycek said. "Now, hands on your head. Feet apart."

 

Ricky obeyed. His breathing seemed loud in the eerie quiet. He tried to stay very still.

 

"Now," Krycek continued, moving around to stand in front of Ricky. "There's only one rule you need to remember. You do what I say, when I say, or you won't like the consequences. Understood?"

 

Ricky nodded. Krycek grabbed Ricky's hair and pulled his head back firmly.

 

"I can't hear you."

 

"Yes, Sir," Ricky said, hoping it would please Krycek.

 

There was silence for a moment. Then Krycek spoke again, his voice oddly strained.

 

"Don't call me that. Call me Alex."

 

"Yes, Alex." 

 

Krycek released his grip on Ricky's hair. The brief tension in the air seemed to dissipate.

 

Krycek circled around behind Ricky again. He leaned over Ricky's shoulder, his mouth close to Ricky's ear. "I don't like being followed, little boy. And I really don't like being kicked. You're going to have to be punished for that. Strip."

 

Shaking, Ricky tried not to think too hard about what he was doing. He unbuttoned his uniform shirt and dropped it to the floor, then toed off his shoes. He stripped off his black uniform pants and socks and added them to the pile. He reached for the waistband of his white briefs, then paused, looking up at Krycek hesitantly. 

 

Krycek reached into his jacket and pulled out a switchblade. It snicked open softly, gleaming in the dim light.

 

"Need some help, Ricky?"

 

Ricky gulped and shook his head. He quickly tugged his briefs down, stepping out of them and dropping them on top of the pile of discarded clothing. He looked nervously at the knife, unconsciously cupping his hands over his cock and balls. Krycek smirked and snapped the knife closed, slipping it back into his jacket. Ricky let out a soft sigh of relief and stood waiting, shivering, the cement floor freezing under his bare feet. 

 

"Cold?" Krycek said with a grin. "I'll warm you up. But first, I want you back in position. Move."

 

Ricky obeyed. He stood, back straight, hands on his head, feet wide apart. Krycek stood in front of him, his eyes moving over Ricky's body in blatant appraisal. A crimson blush raced over Ricky's bare skin and he fidgeted a little, very aware of his nakedness. Krycek's eyes flicked up and he made a noise in his throat, almost a growl. Ricky froze.

 

Krycek grabbed Ricky and kissed him, hard. It was a claiming, a marking of territory, rough and brutal. Ricky clung to Krycek, bare skin against leather, feeling the muscles in Krycek's arm flexing. He let himself be plundered, then returned the kiss hungrily until Krycek pulled away. Ricky nipped at Krycek's bottom lip, secretly thrilled at the way those green eyes widened at his daring.

 

"So the puppy has teeth," Krycek said. His eyes flashed a warning but there was definitely admiration in his tone. "You're going to pay for that."

 

Ricky ducked his head, but his eyes met Krycek's in unmistakable challenge. 

 

_Come on and show me._

 

Krycek stepped around behind him again. Ricky stood very, very still. Krycek's leather glove glided over his ass.

 

"Ever been spanked, Ricky?"

 

Ricky could feel Krycek's breath on the back of his neck. He bit his lip. He was trembling hard now, like a thoroughbred. Krycek's words were having an undeniable effect on him. His cock stood up straight, his balls full and heavy. He tried to imagine Krycek spanking him and wondered at the sudden fluttering in his stomach.

 

The gloved hand on his ass squeezed hard.

 

"I'm waiting," Krycek growled in his ear. "You really don't want to make me wait."

 

Ricky gulped. "I…um…no."

 

"No, what?" Krycek asked gruffly.

 

Ricky's face felt like it was glowing bright enough to light up all of Eastbridge.

 

"No, I've never been s-spanked," he said quickly.

 

Krycek chuckled. He wrapped his arm around Ricky's waist and yanked him back, pressing up against him. Ricky gasped. He could feel Krycek's cock, hard under his jeans, as Krycek ground his crotch against Ricky's bare ass. Krycek's leather jacket was cold against Ricky's skin and he shivered, sure Krycek could feel his heart thudding right through his back.

 

"Well, looks like I got myself a cherryboy after all," Krycek whispered in Ricky's ear. 

 

He cuffed Ricky's hands again and propelled him forward with one leather-sheathed hand on his bare back. Ricky bit back a yelp as his naked thighs and stiff cock made contact with the cold metal trunk of his cruiser. He stood there, telling himself it was just the cold that was making him shiver.

 

Krycek waited behind him.

 

"You know what to do."

 

Ricky nodded numbly. Slowly, scarcely able to believe what he was doing, he bent forward until his chest was resting on the trunk. He lay his cheek on the smooth metal surface the way he'd forced countless perps to do. Is this how they felt, he wondered. 

 

Krycek's footsteps echoed as he stepped back, admiring the view. Ricky was glad he couldn't see the grin that was undoubtedly there on Krycek's wicked, pretty face.

 

Krycek's voice floated to him in the quiet. "Nice. Now spread those legs wide for me."

 

Ricky obeyed, spreading his legs until the muscles of his inner thighs began to protest. He took Krycek's silence as approval and heard him move close again. He stifled a groan as the rough denim of Krycek's black jeans rubbed against the backs of his vulnerable thighs.

 

"You've been a very bad boy, Ricky," Krycek said sternly. "Poking your nose in where it doesn't belong. Got a smart mouth, too. You need discipline. Something to help you remember your place."

 

Ricky caught his breath. He couldn't have spoken a coherent word if his life depended on it. He gulped, wondering if it did. Wondering if Krycek wouldn't just shoot him on general principle after he got through doing…

 

Doing what? 

 

Whatever he wants, Ricky thought. He felt a rush of helplessness and it was strangely comforting. There's no way off this ride now. Not until he's through. 

 

"You need to be punished, Ricky," Krycek continued, one gloved hand squeezing Ricky's ass hard. "Taught a lesson. Wouldn't you agree?"

 

Ricky squeezed his eyes shut.

 

Krycek's hand smacked down on his ass, hard. Ricky jumped and yelped. 

 

"I asked you a question," Krycek said.

 

"I…I…" Ricky stammered. 

 

"I don't like having to repeat myself," Krycek warned. "It makes me unhappy. And you want to keep me happy, Ricky."

 

"I…" Ricky took a deep breath. "Yes, Alex."

 

"Yes what?"

 

"Y-yes, I should…you should…," Ricky gulped. He closed his eyes, his face scalding. "Punish me," he blurted.

 

Another dark chuckle from Krycek. There was no sound for a moment, just long enough for Ricky to imagine what he must look like, bent bare-assed over the trunk of his own police cruiser. He thought about what Stan would say if he saw him like this, not to mention Scali. Ricky whimpered in distress and hoped the warehouse didn't have cameras.

 

"I took out the surveillance system before I was so rudely interrupted," Krycek said, his gloved hand stroking Ricky's ass. "Don't worry, no one will see you getting what's coming to you." He paused and chuckled again. "It's a shame, though. Could sell a lot of copies."

 

Ricky closed his eyes. Oh, God…

 

Krycek's hand landed on his ass again, the sound of the slap echoing in the vast empty space. Ricky uttered a little "Oh!" He started to stand up but was pressed back down, Krycek's artificial hand holding him firmly in place. His other hand began to rise and fall rapidly, the sound of leather against skin growing louder and louder, the heat in Ricky's butt quickly building to a blaze.

 

"Oh!" Ricky gasped again. "Ow…OW!"

 

Ricky's cries grew louder as Krycek increased the speed and strength of the blows.

 

"Quiet," Krycek ordered. "I'll gag you if I have to."

 

Ricky bit his lip as Krycek switched to his other cheek, rapidly turning it red hot to match the other. The leather glove he was wearing left an unbelievable sting, and Ricky began dancing from foot to foot, pinned in place by the unmoving hand in the middle of his back. 

 

"Ow," Ricky whimpered again, unable to keep quiet. He really hadn't ever been spanked before, not even as a kid. He pressed his face against the trunk and snuffled, close to bawling. "Please…"

 

"Not yet, little boy," Krycek growled. "I don't think you've learned your lesson." 

 

He continued slapping Ricky's ass until Ricky was gasping open-mouthed, his ass bright red and throbbing, his hard cock sore from being pressed against the metal trunk.

 

"Please, Alex!" he sobbed. "Please! I'm sorry!"

 

"Are you going to be good?" Krycek demanded, his voice rough and dark.

 

"Yes," Ricky gasped. "Yes, Alex, I swear. I swear!"

 

Krycek laughed softly, his hand lingering on Ricky's tender ass.

 

"You color up nicely," he said, amused. "Looks good on you, cherryboy."

 

Ricky whimpered incoherently as Krycek's gloved finger slid down his cleft, probing gently. 

 

"You want me to fuck you now, don't you?" Krycek said, his voice low and rumbling.

 

"Y-yes," Ricky gasped. 

 

"Beg." One word, all velvet and broken glass. 

 

The finger moved, ever so slightly, just the very tip dipping inside. Ricky moaned.

 

"Please…"

 

"Beg me," Krycek said again. "Show me how much you want it."

 

Ricky tried to push back against Krycek's finger and was rewarded with another sharp slap to his already sore ass. He winced and cried out.

 

"Please," he groaned. "Please, Alex. D-do it."

 

Krycek's soft laugh had a note of wonder. "You're shy, aren't you? Sweet little coplet." He paused, dragging his finger slowly back up Ricky's crack. "Say it, Ricky. You can't have it until you say it."

 

"I…" Ricky panted.

 

"Say it," Krycek said again. It was an order this time. "Say 'fuck me'."

 

"F-fuck me," Ricky whispered. "Please." 

 

"Good. But you can do better. Convince me. Tell me how bad you need it. Tell me you'll die if you don't get my cock inside you."

 

"Please," Ricky said, his voice ragged. "Please fuck me, Alex. I n-need it. I need it so bad. Need you to fuck me…fuck me hard…if…if you don't I…I don't know what I'll-" he broke off, trying to catch his breath. "Alex _please_ …"

 

Ricky shivered, barely able to hold himself still as he heard the sound of Krycek unzipping his jeans. A moment's pause and then the sound of a condom wrapper being torn. Ricky bit his lip and fidgeted, unable to contain his need. His cock brushed up against the side of the cruiser and he rocked his hips forward, groaning at the friction. 

 

_Feels so good…_

 

"Don't," Krycek admonished shortly. "Unless you want a taste of my belt. Think carefully, little boy. I don't think your ass can take any more."

 

Ricky agreed. He tried to be still, tried to control his restless wriggling. He sucked in his breath as Krycek's finger slid inside him, generously coated with lube. Ricky breathed through his nose, unable to contain his groans of pleasure as Alex slid a second finger in, stretching him, spreading the lubricant inside him.

 

Krycek withdrew, and then Ricky felt both hands grasp his hips, one warm, one cold.

 

"Yes, oh yes," Ricky panted. "Take it, Alex. Whatever you want. Fuck me…fuck me, please…"

 

"Slut," Krycek said. Ricky knew without seeing his face that he was grinning. 

 

Ricky felt Krycek's blunt cock press against him and then, without warning, Krycek thrust in all the way. Ricky cried out. It felt so good, so fucking good…

 

Krycek began thrusting, setting up a steady rhythm. Ricky was pinned under him, helpless to do anything but lie there and take it, take it all, whatever Krycek wanted to give him. 

 

"You like this, don't you?" Krycek whispered. "You love my cock up your ass, don't you, little slut?" He growled and bit the back of Ricky's neck, just hard enough to hurt. 

 

"Mmmmmm oh God…oh yes…oh yes…." Ricky chanted. "Fuck me! Harder, Alex…harder please…"

 

Krycek redoubled his efforts, slamming into Ricky. Ricky threw back his head and howled, driven mad by the overwhelming sensations of Krycek's hard cock ramming into him, Krycek's body against his, slamming against his ass so hot and sore and hurting so good. Krycek's fingers, encased in buttery soft leather, splayed over Ricky's hips, gripping hard. He'd have bruises tomorrow. 

 

At least I'll know it wasn't a dream, he thought as Krycek thrust into him again. He groaned, his legs threatening to give way. Krycek's arm slipped around his waist, holding him firmly in place. 

 

"Oh God…Oh God oh God oh God…" Ricky moaned. It felt so good to let go, to just lie there and let Krycek take what he wanted, his cock buried in Ricky's ass, pounding him, making him forget everything else.

 

"Gonna feel this for a long time," Krycek panted. "Hurt you so good."

 

"Yes," Ricky whimpered. "Hurt me, fuck me, anything…anything you want…"

 

"You look so hot like this," Krycek growled, digging his fingers in harder. "Fucking hot…" He lowered his head and bit Ricky's shoulder. "Mine," he growled.

 

"Yes," Ricky gasped again, each thrust rocking him forward. He felt his orgasm building. Krycek hadn't laid a hand on his cock but he was about to come harder than he ever had in his life. "Yours…want it…need it…Oh God…I'm gonna…"

 

"Not…until…I say…" Krycek grunted.

 

"Please, Alex," Ricky moaned. "Please let me… _please_ …"

 

"Now!" Krycek ordered, shouting his own release as Ricky screamed and shot all over the back of the car.

 

Krycek collapsed against him, panting, one arm around Ricky's waist. After a moment, he pulled out. Ricky heard him putting himself away and zipping up.

 

Ricky lay there, his cheek resting on the cold metal. He imagined what he looked like, lying there like that, naked, handcuffed, well spanked and well fucked. He smiled. 

 

After a moment, Krycek pulled him to his feet and unlocked the cuffs. Ricky looked at him, suddenly afraid again.

 

"What now?" he asked, his voice trembling a little.

 

Krycek smiled. He grabbed the back of Ricky's head and took his mouth again in one more searing kiss.

 

"Now you go back to work," he said. He reached into his jacket, pulled out Ricky's police radio and placed it on top of the car. "And so do I."

 

Ricky nodded, overwhelmed with relief. He was going to live after all. He bit his lip as an equally overwhelming sense of longing overwhelmed him. He bent to pick up his pants and stopped halfway, an almost comical look of surprise on his face as his sore and swollen ass protested the movement.

 

"Gonna be a long drive back to the station," Krycek snickered. 

 

Ricky flushed darkly, clutching his pants in front of him. He looked down, unsure of what to say.

 

"I…"

 

"Go back to your beat," Krycek said softly. "Don't let me catch you here again."

 

Ricky looked up. "Where are you…I mean…will I…"

 

"Go on." Krycek tossed Ricky the keys to the cruiser. "Might want to hit the car wash on the way back," he added with a smirk.

 

Ricky nodded, gripping the keys tightly.

 

"Hey!" he blurted, his voice shaking a little. "I'm going to report that I spotted you. I…I have to." And Scali will bust me down so low, Little Angels daycare will be a step up, he thought glumly. And I'll deserve it.

 

"Make all the reports you want," Krycek said. He gave a lopsided shrug. "I'll be long gone." He reached the door and paused, looking back at Ricky, his expression grave.

 

"I meant what I said, Ricky. Stay on your own beat. You never know when I'll be watching."

 

Then he was gone. Ricky stood looking at the closed door, a shiver running up his spine. 

 

"Yes, Alex," he whispered.

 

 

The End


End file.
